


Where There's Smoke

by PinkHighlighter



Category: The Wizard Of Oz (1939)
Genre: 'Old Yeller' moment, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, OC-Canon character romance, Romance, Semi-Slow Burn, Unwanted powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkHighlighter/pseuds/PinkHighlighter
Summary: All is peaceful in the Land of Oz until mysterious fires begin to appear, and a young woman named Tegan seems to be the most likely culprit.  Is she a Witch, or something else entirely?  Meanwhile, back in Kansas, Hickory hasn't had much luck with women and has given up.  What happens when circumstances throw them both together, and they experience each other's worlds?  You'll have to read to find out!





	1. Prologue: Three Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

> There's a theory going around that Oz wasn't actually a dream, and that Dorothy's mind could have travelled there while her body lay unconscious. There are several holes in that idea, but I thought it was intriguing just the same. I also thought that Hickory got an unfair amount of screen time compared to the other two farmhands, and I've always liked Jack Haley. Originally, this was meant to be a very different story, but the first idea just wasn't working at all. This is the last you'll see of Hickory for a few chapters, but he gets a lot of screen time later on! This will also be very OC-heavy, so if you're not into that there are many wonderful authors for you to choose from in this section who might be more to your taste. After this prologue and the next chapter, updates will hopefully be once or twice a week. Enjoy the ride!

It had been a sturdy little cottage once. Now all that remained was a crumbling stone chimney, seemingly tethered in place by a wild tangle of vines and briars. It listed slightly to the right, and the petite woman who stood as close to it as she could get without snagging the hem of her dress regarded it with a pinched little frown.

"Has it been so long?" she murmured, hooking a finger on one of the vines as if to move it. Smoke curled up from the spot where her finger touched it, acrid and thick, and the vine shriveled away as if in mute protest. How long would it have taken for the hands of time to reduce her little house from its former rustic glory to _this_ sorry sight? Time meant so little to a Fire Sprite.

Her human lover must be long dead by now. Maybe centuries long. And her child...a daughter, wasn't it? Yes, she was sure of it. How long _had_ she slept in the planet's core? She took a moment to mourn their loss.

Well...perhaps ' _reflect on'_ would have been a better term, for she had never mourned for anything a day of her life.

The landscape of this part of Oz was far wilder than she remembered, but the plants were of the same type, and the foundation of her little house was still there underneath all that overgrowth. It was there, and it was _hers._

"All of _this_ has got to go." she declared, extending her hand towards the vines in something like a 'stop' gesture. A jet of blue flame exploded from her outstretched hand, rapidly consuming the vines and sending songbirds screeching into the sky. Most of them made it.

When she was satisfied with the size of her new clearing, she made a pulling motion with her hand, sucking the fire back into her palm and closing it with a snap. She padded barefoot over to that steadfast little chimney, leaving tiny footprints in the cooled ash, and laid a hand on its rough surface. "Well...time to get to work."


	2. Fire in the Emerald City; Lonely Farmhand

_Emerald City, Present Day_

Balconies had always enchanted him. Normally, his imagination called forth a scene between star-crossed lovers; the lady fair calling to her paramour from high up off the ground. Reality, it seemed, was much more mundane. Lately, Tin Man often found himself in a setting that involved a balcony, but he was always the one who stood pensively with his tin hands resting upon the brass safety rail as the Emerald City sprawled out before him. There was no lover awaiting him; indeed, his mind was as far from such things as it could possibly get. He had not the heart for romance, it turned out. Being made of metal, that was just as well.

His eyes scanned the darkening skyline as the first stars began to show themselves overhead, almost as he were searching for something. A balloon, perhaps. Or a cyclone. He would even settle for a _bubble_ , because that always heralded Glinda's arrival. Surely, the Good Witch of the North would know how Dorothy was faring back in Kansas.

It had been a little over a year, as Oz measured time, and the anniversary of Dorothy's departure hit him much harder than even he thought it would. While he longed for her company more than ever, he found himself craving solitude from the others, and this high balcony was his refuge from the challenges and tedium of being co-ruler of Oz. Being in a position of authority had never been one of his ambitions. In fact, before Dorothy and the Scarecrow had befriended him and persuaded him to join them on their journey to see the Wizard of Oz, his one and only ambition had been chopping down trees. After all, what else was a metal man without a heart good for but tireless work?

He supposed he had merely been depressed all that time. Disheartened, rather than heartless. Even now, with the realization that the 'heart' he thought he lacked was with him all along, he was still prone to bouts of melancholy. _Especially_ now, with his shared sadness over the loss of Dorothy once again fresh and raw.

So preoccupied was he that one could hardly blame him for not hearing the approaching footsteps of his other two friends.

"What're you doing out here all by yourself?"

Scarecrow hadn't spoken loudly, but Tin Man's hand clapped itself against his hollow chest with a clamorous _'bong'_ as he jumped before turning to face them, looking rather miffed.

Lion jittered back, startled mostly by the loud noise, and he gestured at Tin Man with a paw. " _He_ jumped first."

Tin Man rolled his eyes and turned to face outward once more, but he allowed the other two males to join him on the balcony. "I guess I just wanted to be alone for a little while."

They didn't have to ask why. "We can go, if you'd rather keep it that way."

"No, that's all right. It's just...I miss Dorothy. I keep wondering if she made it home all right. If she's happy..." His voice cracked, but he managed to keep his composure. Perhaps he had finally purged himself of the worst of it.

"Glinda would have let us know," Scarecrow assured him.

"Well, I don't know..." Tin Man tapped his finger against the brass bar with a light ' _tink-tink-tink-tink_ ', a troubled frown marring his animated metal forehead. "She didn't tell Dorothy she could have gone home from the moment she arrived. What else doesn't she tell people?"

Lion twisted his tail in his paws; he didn't like that sound, and he didn't like the direction this conversation had taken. "Then she never woulda met _us_ , and we'd still be stuck where we was before!"

"Yes, but after everything she went through," Tin Man noticed Lion's discomfort, and halted in his tapping, "wouldn't it have been kinder to tell her right away and let her go home?" Privately, he thought that it would have also spared the three of them this heartache, but actually _wishing_ for that would have been tantamount to saying that he wished they'd never met her. Nothing could be further from the truth, and he felt guilty for thinking anything _remotely_ like it.

Scarecrow thought this over for a few moments. "I wonder if it's truly 'kind' to prevent every single hardship when there's a lesson to be learned. Think about it. Would you really change anything?"

A soft breeze rustled Scarecrow's straw, and Lion abruptly turned his head and sniffed at a troubling new odor carried to him on the night air. The other two, possessing no functional noses, detected nothing.

Tin Man pondered the question, then sighed. "We all made it through in one piece, so...no. I guess I wouldn't change a thing."

"Fellas, I smell smoke!" Lion wrung his tail so hard that a warning pain lanced its way up his spine, and he let go of it to point at an orange glow in the distance. "Lookit that, _lookit that!_ "

Scarecrow's stuffed legs began to wobble when he followed the direction of the Lion's paw and realized what he was looking at. "Why, it's a house fire!"

"What do we do, what do we _do?_ " Lion looked frantically around, though for what he wasn't sure.

Scarecrow grabbed the Lion before he could begin to pace, and tapped Tin Man on the arm. "We send the city guards out with the fire hoses and hand pumps, um, buckets of water, anything to put it out, hurry!"

Tin Man took up his axe, which up until now had been leaning against the side of the building, and clanked off down the hall to get things moving. "I hope no one's hurt!"

* * *

Scarecrow peered through his binoculars at the chaos surrounding the blaze. The fire team was hard at work, and Tin Man, who couldn't get anywhere near the water for fear of rusting, stood well behind them and appeared to be giving orders. Lion was nowhere to be seen.

Wait, no, there he was. The big cat was soaking wet, and probably would have been as mad as a wet hen if he didn't look so scared. Frightened or not, he pitched in just as hard as the others, working one side of the large hand-pumped fire hose.

Scarecrow anxiously shook his head as Tin Man pointed at the East wall of the house, and Lion impatiently flung up one paw and made some kind of retort, perhaps saying that he was going as fast as he could. "I wish I could hear what was going on!"

At least the fire was going out now.

A still figure drew Scarecrow's attention, mostly because she was the only person who seemed to be doing absolutely nothing. Even the rubberneckers who had gathered were talking among themselves, or pointing, or pressing forward for a better look. Tin Man had his hands full keeping everybody a safe distance away, and so he didn't seem to notice the woman. As Tin Man turned aside to speak to an elderly gentleman, Scarecrow adjusted his binoculars and squinted.

Why was she just _standing_ there?

* * *

Lion shook out his pelt and sat down on the ground to catch his breath as the crowd began to disperse. Tin Man spoke with the man of the house, who introduced himself as Alan Pryce.

"No, there was no one trapped inside. It's just me and my daughter; she's standing over there. We got out just in time." Alan blinked back tears, though whether they were from emotion or from the lingering smoke, Tin Man wasn't sure. "Everything we had was inside..."

Tin Man nodded sympathetically, patting Alan on the shoulder. He saw the man's daughter, but her back was to them, and he couldn't make out much more than a long red braid and a scorched green dress. " _Things_ can be replaced, sir. _People_ can't. Thank goodness you're both all right!"

Alan didn't look very comforted by this, but he nodded and ran his hand over his balding gray head. "I suppose we'll have to find an inn that's still open, though at this hour..."

"Oh, nonsense!" Tin Man said airily, waving a hand and pointing his axe at the Emerald City Palace. "We have plenty of spare rooms available for travelers, but they hardly ever get used. You and your daughter can stay there until you're back on your feet. In the meantime, I'll cut the lumber to rebuild your house, and you'll see, everything will turn out right."

Alan glanced at his daughter's rigid back (apprehensively, Tin Man thought) and shook his head. "It's a kind offer, but I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

Instead of answering him, Alan avoided eye contact and folded his arms. "Thank you for your help. If you're sure it wouldn't be an imposition..."

"No, not at all! I'm sure you'll want to talk it over with her first," Tin Man saw Lion sitting on the glassy green street, and his metaphorical heart twisted in pity. The poor fellow had done all that work while Tin Man had just stood around and pointed his finger every now and then. They should really get back, maybe have a physician check Lion over to make sure he hadn't breathed in too much smoke. "We'll tell the Scarecrow to expect you at some point tonight."

Alan murmured his thanks and walked off, and Tin Man rejoined the Lion. "Are you all right?"

"I'm _pooped_ ," was Lion's succinct reply. As if to emphasize the point, he dramatically flopped over onto his back.

Tin Man had to laugh at that. "Come on, get up. You've earned a rest, but the middle of the street isn't the place to have it."

* * *

_Kansas, Twilight_

Hickory stuck the end of a piece of sweet timothy grass into the corner of his mouth as he and the other two farmhands packed it in for the day. Sweat trickled down his face, stained his underarms and back, and his knees and lower back made their usual complaints at the abuse this job inflicted on them day after day.

Someone jostled him from behind, and he nearly spit out his chew.

"C'mon, Hick! You ain't got a gray hair on your head, but you're movin' like an old man!" Hunk, the youngest farmhand, called over his shoulder as he went to wash his face and hands at the water pump.

"I don't know where you get the energy," Hickory swiped Hunk's hat and stuck it at a jaunty angle on the farm scarecrow.

"Hey!" Hunk retrieved his property, only to realize that he'd lost his spot at the pump. " _Hey,_ that's not fair. You cheated!"

Hickory laughed as Hunk tried to muscle his way in, but he was the stronger of the two, and he got his friend and co-worker in a headlock. "Call _me_ an old man, will you?"

"Not your _armpit!_ Mr. Gale! Hickory's trying to kill me!" Hunk flailed his arms uselessly as Hickory ground his knuckles painlessly into the top of his head.

While the two of them were otherwise occupied, Zeke, the oldest of the three farmhands, calmly hung his hat on the fence and began to wash his face and hands. It was only the sound of running water slapping noisily on the dusty earth that brought the other two out of their playful argument, and he was already straightening up by then. "You two're really feelin' your oats today."

The evening ritual resumed with more decorum than before (though Hunk delivered a stealthy kick to Hickory's rear end at one point), and the three of them waved goodnight to Dorothy as they headed for the barn to stow the last of the tools they'd used that day.

"Who's up for a game of darts?" asked Hunk. This was their thing to do after a hard day's work. Henry Gale had allowed them to hang a dart board on one of the walls in the hay barn, and the 'Bull's Eye' was a newspaper clipping of Almira Gulch's face. At least, it _used_ to be; Hunk did a double-take and pointed. "And who took down Miss Gulch's picture?"

"I did," Hickory pried open an old rusty molasses tin, which was where they stored the darts. "Zeke, you playing?"

"Nah," Zeke was already on his way out the door. "If I'm late again, Martha's gonna have my hide for a throw rug."

Chuckles followed in Zeke's wake, and Hunk nudged Hickory. "He's even more henpecked than Old Chester."

Old Chester was the farm's skinny rooster, and he was missing more than a few tail feathers, courtesy of his many wives.

Hickory threw the three darts in rapid succession, snorted, and retrieved them. "That was a lousy set..."

"Sure it was, you didn't even aim," Hunk took the darts from him and squinted one eye, sighting along the length of the dart before throwing it. "And _I'm_ used to aiming for the old biddy's nose. Why'd you take her picture down?"

Hickory folded his arms and leaned against the hay ladder. "The woman's _dead_. Let her rest in peace."

Hunk had the good manners to look ashamed as he threw his second dart. A little closer that time. "I guess you're right. Speaking of women, Zeke and Martha got me thinkin'."

"'Bout what?"

"When're _you_ gonna settle down with a nice gal? That hair of yours won't stay black forever." He threw his third dart, getting very close that time, but still missing the Bull's Eye. He pretended not to notice how Hickory's expression had darkened. "First it was Maisie. I thought she was perfect for ya, but you said she was too critical."

Hickory's lips tightened as Hunk passed him the darts, and he took his place in front of the board. "She didn't see the point of inventing things," he mumbled, throwing his first dart. "I mean, she was nice enough," he threw his second dart, "but we didn't have nothin' in common."

"How's that?"

Hickory threw his third dart, missing the board entirely. "I showed her my wind machine, and before I could tell her what it was, she asked me what that 'piece of junk' was. That's when I knew."

Hunk got the darts and switched places with Hickory. "What was wrong with Helen?"

Hickory sighed. "Trying to get over some other fella. Spent the whole night talking about _him_. How's _that_ supposed to make a guy feel? There was nothin' _wrong_ with her, she was _nice_ , but...well, she just wasn't for me. And don't even mention Louise. I can't be with someone I don't trust."

Hunk winced sympathetically. Hickory had been head over heels for Louise about two years ago, until he caught her kissing another man. Since then, Hickory seemed to be avoiding women altogether. Hunk could understand why Hickory might be reluctant to try again after being hurt so badly, but it didn't take a genius to see that Hickory was lonely. "Lookit, Hickory, if you don't get out there and meet people, you're gonna end up alone. What're you afraid of?" He threw his third dart, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hickory stride forward to collect them almost before it hit.

Hickory threw two darts in rapid succession, each one landing on either side of the board. He was ready to be done with this conversation, but he answered his friend anyway. "Ending up alone _anyway._ And don't you go spreading that around, neither." He threw his last dart, hitting _very_ close to the Bull's Eye, then put a hand to the back of his neck and rocked his head from side to side. "I think I'm gonna head home. My neck and shoulders are killin' me."

"All right. Guess I'll go home, too. No fun playing by myself."

"Night, Hunk. I mean it, not one word."

"Go home, Old Timer."


	3. Chapter 3: Departure; Nikko's News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original plan was to update every four days, but I missed my first deadline. With the holiday weekend and family plans, I got a little off schedule. I'm back on track now, though, and the next chapter should go up sometime on the 30th.

"We're accepting his offer. It's settled," Tegan's father sternly told her. After what she'd done, she couldn't find it in herself to argue with him. Their clothes, their keepsakes, everything they owned, all gone. Her late mother's _wedding dress?_ Ashes.

By some miracle, or maybe simply by chance, neither her father nor her neighbors were injured that night. She herself was in no danger, but this was hardly any consolation. _What had she done?_

These were the thoughts that she went to sleep with, and she awoke within the hour, hyperventilating and reaching out blindly in the darkness. A loud snort from her father brought her back to reality, and she held her breath in the silent hope that she hadn't woken him up. She hadn't.

She exhaled shakily and buried her face in her hands, the same hands that had left them both homeless.

_Her temper._

Tegan had lost control of what she called 'It' before, but this last time was by far the worst. She wanted to put some of the blame on her father, to say that he had provoked her, but she knew this wasn't true. For the past three years, her moods had grown more and more unpredictable, and with the moods came the flares (as her father called them).

Drop a dish while drying it? Accidentally set the tea towel on fire.

Stub a toe on the table leg? One less chair to sit on.

And what about her father's constant suggestions that she speak with _this_ handsome young man or pursue something with _that_ wealthy-looking fellow? All well and good, if he would just let the matter drop, and he usually did. Tonight he had not, and the oil lamp she'd been holding as she tried to retreat to the privacy of her room had spontaneously exploded, coating the stairwell in flammable liquid, which quickly did what spilled lamp oil was known to do.

Thankfully, her father wasn't in front of her when it happened, but the thought of it haunted her, and the events of her dream had turned out very differently.

And it could still happen.

Tegan got up from her bed, lit a candle (with a match; she didn't _dare_ try to do it another way), and sat down at the desk to write, tearing a page out of the small, green-leather-bound blank book she'd found in one of the desk drawers. She thought she could still smell the smoke from that night's blaze, and it turned her stomach. Perhaps the smell was just in her nose. How much smoke had she inhaled?

Alan's rhythmic snoring told her she was safe from discovery, at least for the moment. Her father was a deep sleeper, which was a trait he thankfully hadn't passed on to her.

Her pencil scratched quietly on the page, and she bit her lip as her hand shook. She then crumbled up the note, tore out another page, and tried again. Their room in the palace was more opulent than she was used to, with a complimentary fruit bowl and everything they could possibly need to make their stay comfortable. It was far more than she deserved at the moment. People could have _died._ What did it matter that it was an accident?

Her stomach was in knots, and she wondered if she would be sick. What she was about to do would hurt her father even more than the loss of a house and a few belongings, but what choice did she have?

She folded the letter in half and laid it on her father's bedside table, then she slipped into the bathroom to change out of her nightgown and into the new clothes she had been given. The green dress and soft shoes weren't the most practical things for traveling in, but for now they would have to do. After braiding her hair and winding it into a coiled bun to keep it out of the way, she pinned it in place and tip-toed over to her father's bedside. For all she knew, this would be the last time she would ever see him.

She gazed down at him for a long moment, and very nearly lost her nerve. Then the moment passed and she turned decisively away, stuffed a few apples from the bowl into her pillowcase along with a hair brush and a bar of soap, and slung it over her shoulder. Then, as an afterthought, she took the journal, the pencil, and a small knife for sharpening the lead. Looking and feeling like a thief, she left before she could change her mind.

Getting past the guard was easy; he was fast asleep. Tegan was momentarily intrigued by this. The rumor was that Scarecrow and Tin Man never slept. If this was the case, why didn't one of _them_ stand guard every night? She decided not to dwell on this, and took the road heading West. The poppy blooms closed at night, making their deadly perfume bearable, so Tegan was able to stay awake long enough to escape it.

Perhaps the smell had wafted in on the breeze, effectively knocking out the guard. Why was the poppy field allowed to remain if it was so dangerous? She had never thought to ask, and it was too late now.

West was the way to go. Even now, Ozians, with the exception of the Winkies, avoided the Wicked Witch of the West's former territory. She hoped to find refuge near the Haunted forest. With any luck, no one would search for her there.

* * *

Late the next morning, Scarecrow and Tin Man were locked in a rather heated debate, while the Lion sat nearby and passively observed them. The Scarecrow had voiced his suspicion that the fire might have been caused deliberately, while the Tin Man vehemently opposed this idea.

"You don't think it's a little strange that Alan's daughter just stood there, doing nothing?" Scarecrow spread his arms in a wide, incredulous shrug.

"Of course not. The poor girl was probably in shock. Wouldn't _you_ be?"

Scarecrow imagined himself in the middle of a blazing house fire, and shuddered so violently that his straw rustled.

Tin Man's eyes softened a little, and he lowered his voice. "I know how you feel about fire, but this really isn't like you. I think you got scared about how close it was, and it clouded your judgment. It could have been something as simple as a candle being too close to the curtains, and her behavior could have just been her own reaction to it all. Remember, she and her father lost _everything._ "

"And how did her father say the fire started again?"

Now Tin Man's brow furrowed, and he broke eye contact. "He didn't. But things were kinda hectic last night..."

"You didn't ask?"

"Well, no..." Tin Man looked down, seeming more interested in testing the edge of his axe blade than in continuing the conversation. "I thought that could wait until today."

Scarecrow was wise enough to recognize a stalemate when he saw one, and he had to concede that Tin Man was right. It really _wasn't_ like him to assume the worst and try to prove it, and he saw the wisdom of Tin Man's words as well. How _would_ he have reacted if he'd been the one to endure such a fire? Assuming no sparks made it into his straw stuffing and he got out of there unscathed, he would have been incoherent with terror and scrambling to get away. He supposed he could see how another person might simply shut down. "You're right. Well! The thing to do now is get their house rebuilt. When were you planning on getting started?"

Tin Man brightened. "As soon as possible."

From where he sat on the floor, Lion raised one paw. "First thing's first. How 'bout a lunch break?"

"We don't eat, remember?" Tin Man pointed out.

"Sure, sure, but _I_ do, and-" Lion trailed off as his stomach gave a loud, obnoxious gurgle. The other two looked down at his belly with identical looks of comical surprise, and the Lion laughed bashfully. "Case in point. You fellas mind?"

Tin Man chuckled. "Not at all. It's about that time anyway."

They watched the Lion bound out of the room, and Scarecrow folded his stuffed arms with a soft crackle. "You were right. It really _isn't_ like me. But the thought of an _arsonist_ living in the Emerald City chills me to the bone. Or...well, it would if I _had_ any."

"Now, now, we'll get to the bottom of this soon. I'm sure they're awake by now, and we'll just ask them...Say, do you hear that?" Tin Man turned his metal head so quickly at the sound of wingbeats that his neck squeaked, and he grimaced at the sound before reaching for his oil can.

At almost the exact same instant, there was a soft 'thud' on the window sill, followed by a knock. A blue face peered through the glass, though the color of said face was difficult to make out through the transparent green panel. The Flying Monkey waved to make sure he had their attention, then pointed to the window latch, folding his wings.

Scarecrow grinned. "Ah, it's only Nikko."

Nikko was the ruler of the Flying Monkeys, and former unwilling servant to the Wicked Witch of the West. Now that the Witch was dead and his people were free, Nikko decided to show his gratitude by reporting to the new co-rulers of the Emerald City when he saw something suspicious in the Land of Oz. So far, he hadn't been back to the palace yet, and Scarecrow just assumed the creature had forgotten.

Scarecrow opened the window to let him in, and Nikko hopped nimbly to the green polished floor and tipped his fez.

"I have news, yes, news!" the Monkey announced, seemingly unable to stand still. "Flew all the way from Winkie Country, I did."

"You must be thirsty," Tin Man guessed, but while Nikko's eyes lit up he impatiently shook his head.

"Water can wait, news first. My people are seeing fires, and the Winkie Guards were seen back in...in _her_ castle." Nikko shuddered.

Scarecrow, visibly shaken by this, asked, "Where did the first fire appear?"

"Not sure, not sure," Nikko shook his head, "But the first one _I_ know about broke out near the Winkie Village. They're happening all over Oz. Except for Gilikin Country, in the North. Not sure why. Maybe because of Glinda. She lives in the North, so her magic must be protecting it. The East and South have no witches, no, so they have no one to protect those territories. Oh! But there's a new rumor going around about a new Witch in the West! So, Nikko is here."

Seeing that Scarecrow was unable to speak just then, Tin Man took over and asked, "Are you sure? Did you see her?"

Nikko shook his head so hard that his fez fell off, but he fumbled and caught it before it could hit the floor, and he made a harsh sound in the back of his throat as he jammed the fez back on his head where it belonged. "No, no, no! We don't go there, never again. Bad memories, too scared." Indeed, the Monkey was beginning to tremble, and Tin Man took pity on him.

"That's all right. No one's asking you to go there. We appreciate you bringing us this news. Now, how about that drink?"

"Yes, please."

Scarecrow walked over to the window and rested his elbows on the sill as Nikko followed Tin Man out of the room. He thought he almost understood what was going on, but the moment his brain began to home in on it the idea squirmed free and was gone again. The girl from last night couldn't be a Witch, could she? If she was, it could explain how she might be able to travel quickly from one place to another, so she could have been active in the West before coming here and...

No. Why would she set her own father's house on fire? Tin Man was right; that was absurd! "I think my brain needs a rest."


	4. The Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy...It's been almost a year, hasn't it? Right, that's the last time I try to put myself on a writing schedule! I do plan to finish this at some point, but I have a feeling updates will be slow. I do apologize for the delay! I hope everyone's in character.

 

     The Wizard's old throne room looked very much the same as it had when Dorothy and her friends had their first terrifying meeting with the great floating head that they thought was the Wizard, with one exception. At Scarecrow's request, all of the pyrotechnics had been dismantled and removed, and the throne was mostly kept for the Lion's amusement. While he didn't refer to himself as 'King of the Forest' as the others thought he might, he _did_ like having a cushy chair to sit on.

     Right now, however, the Lion was still off having his lunch, and the Scarecrow sat on the low steps of the dais in deep thought. The throne room was where the trio met to discuss important business (not that there had been very much of that yet), or just to have some time to themselves.

     Tin Man was just returning with Nikko when an Emerald City Guard strutted importantly into the room. This was not the same guard who had tried to turn Dorothy and the others away a year ago. _That_ guard had actually been the Wizard in one of his many disguises. Behind the young guard walked an older gentleman, and Scarecrow recognized him as the man they had given sanctuary to. But where was the man's daughter?

     Scarecrow stood quickly out of politeness, nearly lost his balance, and hopped down the last step to meet them. He was joined by Tin Man, though Nikko hung back.

     The guard clicked his heel and saluted. "Alan Pryce to see you, sirs!"

     Alan bowed low, but the Scarecrow grinned and soundly shook his hand. "No need for that! We're not very formal here."

     "Oh?" Alan looked at the guard, who stood as rigidly as if he had left the hanger in his shirt that morning. _He_ certainly seemed determined to maintain an air of formality, but perhaps it was because he was so young and trying to impress. The guard saluted again, turned on his heel, and marched out of the room. "I see..."

     Tin Man shook Alan's hand next, taking care not to squeeze too hard. "How are you enjoying your stay?"

     "I can't thank you enough for taking us in. But..." Alan reached into his breast pocket and brought out a folded note. "It's my daughter, sir. She left sometime during the night."

     Tin Man's face fell as Alan handed him the letter, and Scarecrow crowded in to read when he opened it.

_Dad,_

_I don't know what to say. Saying 'I'm sorry' seems too small, somehow, and even though you know I didn't mean to do it, I wish with everything I am that I could take it all back. I wish I wasn't like this. I'm so scared of what I can do, and after tonight, I know it isn't safe for me to be around other people._

_You could have been killed. I can't do this anymore. I'm so angry all the time now, and I don't know why. Maybe someday I'll figure it out, and I'll be able to control it. Until then, please don't look for me. Know that I am well, and I'll come back someday if I can._

_I'm so sorry. I love you, Daddy. So much!_

_Tegan_

     Tin Man's eyes welled up, and he passed the letter off to Scarecrow as he blinked a few times to keep back the tears. Her obvious pain and guilt was difficult to observe, even in the form of a letter, but this new development might mean that Scarecrow was right about her all a long, at least in part.

     Scarecrow read over the note again before folding it, and a frown creased his painted face. "Does this mean what I think it means? The fire last night, was it..."

     Alan looked down and nodded. "Yes...and no. It's hard to explain. No one was supposed to know about it."

     "Please, try." Tin Man urged, successfully regaining control of his emotions. "We can't help if we don't know what's going on."

     "She's...There's something going on with her," Alan took back the letter and put it in his pocket once more. "She and her mother were both...well...neither of them ever got burned. _Ever._ My wife could take a tray of biscuits out of the oven without needing pot-holders. The first time I caught her doing it, it scared the daylights out of me. After she dropped the tray-from my yell, not from the heat-she explained that this was normal for her, and she hadn't heard me come in."

     Scarecrow managed to keep up a facade of businesslike calm, though he had no idea how he managed it. He nodded and motioned for Alan to continue.

     "And Tegan, we had a _heck_ of a time keeping her out of the fireplace when she was a baby. We always had to watch her, until she was old enough to understand and listen. But neither of them could actually create _fire_. Then, three years ago, Tegan accidentally torched a house plant."

     Nikko screeched, and Scarecrow did his best to conceal his alarm. Was Tegan the rumored Witch, or perhaps it was her mother? "What about your wife?"

     "Oh, she passed away when Tegan was about twelve or so," Alan looked down. "Tegan took it very hard, too. But _this_ didn't start until recently, when Tegan was twenty-two.

     "Maybe your daughter's a Witch," Scarecrow suggested. Tin Man immediately gave him a reproachful look, and Alan glared.

     "If she _is_ a Witch, she's only a danger to herself, whatever else you or she might think. I came here to ask you to help me find her, not slander my family."

     "Oh, no!" Scarecrow waved his hands. "I didn't mean it _that_ way. After all, Glinda is a Witch, and everyone loves her. From that letter, it sounds like she _meant_ to do something good when she left, but..."

     "We still need to find her," Tin Man replied firmly, putting a hand on his chest as if it ached. "This must be _awful_ for her!"

_And awful for anyone who happened to cross her path at the wrong moment,_ thought Scarecrow.

     "Find who?"

     Lion's approach had gone unnoticed as he padded in on soft paws, rubbing his full belly. Alan jumped, startled, but the Lion's friendly smile put him at ease once more.

     The others filled him in, and he suddenly wished he hadn't eaten so much as the queasiness set in. "We're...we're gonna go look for a _Witch?_ "

     "We're not sure if she _is_ a Witch," replied Scarecrow, "but yes."

     "Now, wait a minute, fellas..."

     His two companions were used to this by now, and Tin Man spoke over him. "Scarecrow, it might be a good idea for you to stay behind. Someone needs to mind the store."

     " _I'm_ someone!" Lion tapped his chest, but his paw came into contact with metal. Looking down, he saw his Legion of Courage medal and blushed red under his fur. He wished, not for the first time, that courage and fear didn't actually go hand in hand.

     "Come on, Lion. We've dealt with Witches before, haven't we?" Tin Man wheedled with more bravado than he actually felt. "You know as well as I do that Scarecrow and fire don't exactly get along."

     "Yeah," Lion scuffed at the floor and pooched out his lower lip. "All right. But where should we start?"

     Everyone turned to look at Alan, but it was Nikko who answered. "More fires in the West and in the South. Maybe fire's drawn to fire."

     "Hm..." Scarecrow thought this over, then nodded. "Nikko might have something there. It's as good a place to start as any."

     "Yeah, but West or South?" Lion anxiously wrung his tail.

     Tin Man gave a rattling shudder. "Let's try South first and work our way around, if it could be either one. I don't think we should go West unless we have to."

     In the end, it was decided that Scarecrow and Alan would remain in the Emerald City. Alan desperately wanted to join in the search, but he had to concede that Scarecrow was right when he suggested that seeing him might set Tegan off.

     "There must be _something_ we can do from here!" Alan told the Scarecrow as they watched Tin Man and Lion depart.

     "Actually, there is. Let me show you our library."


End file.
